I like the Navy.  I like being topside on a long voyage with the sea in my face and ocean winds whipping in from everywhere - the feel of the giant steel ship beneath me, it's engines driving against the sea.

 I like the Navy.  I like the clang of steel, the ringing of the bell, the foghorns and strong laughter of Navy men at work.  I like the ships of the Navy - nervous darting destroyers, powerful cruisers, majestic battleships, and steady, solid carriers, and most of all, the sleek and stealthy submarines.

 I like the names of the Navy subs:  Harter, Darter, Trigger, Trout.  Archerfish, Tang, Wahoo, Nautilus, Sea Wolf and Albacore.

 I like the inspiration of Navy music and the tempo of a Navy Band, "Liberty Whites" and the spice scent of a foreign port.  I like shipmates I've sailed with...the farmer from the Illinois cornfield, a guy from L.A.'s central district, a native American who grew up in a mud hogan, the boogie boarders of California, and a drawling friendly Texan. From Mississippi to Oregon; Maine to Arizona, all good men, tried and true.  From all parts of the land they came- farms of the Midwest, small towns of New England -  from the cities, the mountains and the prairies. All Americans, All are comrades in arms.  All are men of the sea.

 I like the adventure in my heart when the boat puts out to sea, and I like the electric thrill of sailing home again, with the waving hands of welcome from family, sweethearts, and friends waiting on shore.  The work was hard, the going rough at times, but there was the companionship of robust Navy laughter, the camaraderie of mastering qualifications, and the devil-may-care philosophy of the sea.

 And after a day of hard duty, there is a serenity of the sea at dusk, as white caps dance on the ocean waves.  The sea at night is mysterious.  I like the lights of the Navy in darkness - the masthead lights, and red and green sidelights and stern lights, and those flashing yellow beacons.  They cut through the night and look like a mirror of stars in darkness.   There are quiet nights and the quiet of the mid-watch when the ghosts of all the sailors of the world stand with you. And there is the aroma of fresh coffee from the galley.

 I like the legends of the Subs and the men who made them.  I like the proud  names of great men and heroes: Holland and Momsen;  Cromwell, Gilmore , Dealey , Ramage, O’Kane, Fluckey, Street, and the thousands of unnamed men who went down in subs and didn't come back.

 A man can find much in the Navy - comrades in arms, pride in a country. A man can find himself.

 In later years, when the Sailor is home from the sea, he will still remember with fondness the ocean spray on his face when the sea is angry. There will still come a faint aroma of diesel oil in his nostrils, the echo of hearty laughter of the seafaring men who once were close companions.

 Locked on land, he will grow wistful of his Navy days, when the seas belonged to him and a new port of call was always over the horizon. Remembering this, he will stand taller and say,